


the gift

by cellorocket



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14125236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellorocket/pseuds/cellorocket
Summary: Curled up at her desk, Petra closed her notebook and lined her pencil neatly against its spine. From the living room, the radio blared, muffled through her bedroom door. “Allies push east! Nazis on the run!” She'd stopped taking the news seriously; this small ray of hope might even be true, but there was blood behind those banal words, she could feel it in her bones. Carefully, she slid a hatbox out from under her bed and set the battered lid aside, steeling herself. Within were a neat pile of letters, meticulously stacked by date.She knew she should probably burn them, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. They were all that remained of him, all that she would ever have.  It had been six months since the last one, and she knew the reason why.





	the gift

Curled up at her desk, Petra closed her notebook and lined her pencil neatly against its spine. From the living room, the radio blared, muffled through her bedroom door. _“Allies push east! Nazis on the run!”_  She'd stopped taking the news seriously; this small ray of hope might even be true, but there was blood behind those banal words, she could feel it in her bones. Carefully, she slid a hatbox out from under her bed and set the battered lid aside, steeling herself. Within were a neat pile of letters, meticulously stacked by date.

She knew she should probably burn them, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. They were all that remained of him, all that she would ever have.  It had been six months since the last one, and she knew the reason why.

**_✗_ ** **** **_→_ ** **_June 8, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_Sorry about the penmanship. I’ve ruined one sheet of paper already, and we don’t have that much to spare. Captain says my hands’ll steady out soon. Don’t get too worried._ **

**_I don’t know if I’ll send this. Haven’t decided yet. It’s usually not such a dilemma. I’ll talk your ear off given half a chance; you know that. But I should be cheerful in these goddamn things. The last thing I want is for you to worry, since you’re way the hell over there and I’m way the hell over here, and I can’t just pinch your cheek and tell you to take a breath like I would any other time. Calm down, nag. You know? Now, there’s an ocean between us. A thousand years of it._ **

**_And it’s not like I’m a cheerful guy at the best of times, but today I – well, I don’t know. I don’t know how you want me to talk in these letters. I don’t even know how I want them, either, so I’ll give you a chance to decide for us. I could go on and on about petty shit, because even here there’s petty shit. ‘Fucking Jim bummed half my smokes,’ that kinda thing._ **

**_Or, if you decide, I could tell you everything that happens. I could tell you that fucking Jim’s a smear on the beach with a hole in his neck and my cigarettes are still in his pocket, right next to a picture of his girlfriend; a blonde with a freckle under her eye.  And I could tell you they haven’t even bagged and tagged his body yet; he’s just lying there in the surf, each wave tugging a little on his legs. Trying to drag him out to sea. Drag him down._ **

**_I could tell you I was right next to him, and one moment he’s telling me to move my ass and the next there’s this sound, this whistle and a wet thud, and he slumps. And blood – it’s hot, you know? It’ll burn you. And on the beach I put it behind me, because you can’t think about anything when the bullets start flying, but in every moment since I think about his girlfriend getting that letter, and his mom changing the blue star in the window to a gold one, and how everyone in their neighborhood will speak in whispers about it, for a long time after. And I think it could have easily been me, if the guy shooting at us had aimed a little left. It could have been me lying in the surf with a hole in my neck and your picture in my pocket._ **

**_So tell me how you want my letters, alright? I don’t know which I’d like more. Pretending might be nice, but I think it’d make you worry more – not knowing. But I’m not even sure I want to know the things I know. Or that I can handle knowing them alone. In any case, don’t show this one to my family, alright?_ **

**_‘You got a sweetheart at home, huh?’ my Captain said to me after we landed. ‘Tell her how beautiful France is.’  But you’d know I was lying, even though you can’t see my face. You’d see it in the words._ **

**_It’s not anything here. It’s just red and grey._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_~_ **

She told him, with no hesitation; she wanted to hear everything, as much as the censors would allow. If she couldn’t be at his side, she would do anything to help bear this burden with him. And if all it took were a few silly letters, then she would do it gladly. And she had, almost every day she wrote something to him; sometimes sending him sheets of what looked like diary pages, entries separated by date and theme. She could do that much. 

****

**_✗_   ** _→_  ** _June 19, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I can’t tell you how good it was to get your letter. Or how good it is getting a whole stack of them from everyone. (But yours especially). They pass letters out during meals by calling your name, and my name got called four times, which is three more than most guys, and four more than most others._ **

**_'How the hell do you got so many people writing you?’ Allen said, kind of twisted up about it. 'You’re the biggest bastard I ever met.”_ **

**_I shrugged. Grinned a little. (Sorry). "Some people like that I’m a bastard.” They saw the girly handwriting on the envelope and started bugging me about you right away. After that they all wanted to see your picture, but you might be pleased to know I turned those nosy bastards down._ **

**_So I know what you’re saying, about being greedy. I hold tight to everything about you – memories and details. Little things. I don’t know if you know what I mean by this, which means it’s kind of dumb. But you do this thing when you’re irritated with me – you chew on the inside of your cheek and scowl.  I thought about that a lot yesterday in particular. Was feeling like making trouble, but I didn’t have my favorite nag around to lecture me straight. So I had to settle for the memory of it. And memory’s better than nothing, but at the same time it’s a cheap shadow. You can’t hold it in your arms._ **

**_I bet your dad would be in stitches if he saw how familiar my letters are. So colloquial! It’s very improper. There’s a certain way to do these things, but I figure you’d prefer if I wrote like I talk. Maybe you could hear it better._ **

**_I saw the date on your letter, and I thought for a long time that when you were home writing to me, sitting at your desk  (with the chip in the front left leg), I was on the beach. It’s surreal. But good to know that somewhere things are alright._ **

**_Anyway, it’s nice to hear about home. Thanks for keeping an eye on the brats for me. I know you got better things to do than write me letters, but I could read about every little thing that happens to you.  So if you’re holding back because you think you’ll bore me, don’t. Please._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

~

**_< EN ROUTE À Saint-Lô >_ **

**_✗_ ** ******_→_ ** **_June 21, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_This’ll be a short one because I haven’t gotten much sleep, and we’re on the move tomorrow. Won’t say where, and it’s not important anyway. There’s a lot I can’t say because this is war and loose lips sink ships and all that. Got to be careful and smart, and you know I’m neither._ **

**_All this careful business is against my nature. I’m loud and dumb. I get in trouble because I get bored. And I know it annoyed you something awful, but I don’t know if I’ll be like that when I come back. Here there’s nothing but trouble, and you’re never bored. Here, it’s strange when there’s a quiet moment. You start listening for the sounds of shells and gunfire, because it’s better than something lurking quiet, out of your sight. Watching you through a scope._ **

**_I’ve been thinking about you today. Not to say that I don’t think about you every day, because I do, but today especially. I was remembering the day I met you. I said some pretty rude things trying to tease you, because I’m a bastard and I wanted you to notice me, and you gave me such a look I’d never seen before or since. And you put me in my place, propriety be damned. And even though I was stupid for being rude, I thought you were the most amazing person I’d ever met. I’m sorry if it embarrasses you to hear me say it. And you’ve been doing that in the best way every since then, and I’m so glad for it._ **

**_There’s a lot that’s wrong over here, but that’s the biggest wrong to me right now – that I’m here and you’re there. I wouldn’t want you here though I know you’d drop everything and help in a heartbeat, but you don’t want to be here. I’m not being a bastard about this. What I’m saying is that the biggest wrong is I’m not sitting next to you right this second, watching the sunset over the water, trying to work up the nerve to hold your hand._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

She watched the snow swirl down from a slate gray sky, her heart aching. She had to admit it to herself. She had to stop digging up her grief with his letters, and stop fingering the latches of the watch he'd given her. The gift had been too large for her wrist, but she clutched it to her chest anyway, thanking him with tears in her eyes. It was impossible; she couldn't turn away from his words. 

She remembered him pressing it into her palm, folding her fingers around it one by one. Jazz floated across the water like a dream, and there was a bead of sweat at his temple, his earnest brows. He'd shipped out the next day. That was the last time she'd ever seen him; half obscured by swirling steam from the departing train, hanging out of the window to the delighted hooting of his comrades within. She ran, and before the train picked up speed she jumped into his arms for one last kiss. He held her tightly, breathing deep and trembling with his nose buried in her hair, then let her go. She stumbled a bit when she touched the ground, slowed to a trot, then stopped, watching his face grow smaller and smaller until he was swallowed by the steam. 

**_~_ **

**_✗_   _→_ _June 25, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_Your letter gave me a thrill. I asked you to tell me every little thing and by God, that’s what you did. If it’s all the same, keep doing that. I’ve only had that letter in my hands for a few days but I’ve read it probably a hundred times._ **

**_I have to be careful with them. They’re only paper and ink, and they could be so easily wrecked. I wrap them in a handkerchief and then pack them away in a little tin, so if it rains or we have to cross some body of water, they’ll stay dry. Pete had this fat stack of letters from his girlfriend and they were ruined when we got caught in a downpour. I’ve never seen the guy so upset, and I couldn’t blame him._ **

**_Though I think if your letters got ruined in some way, I’d be okay. I remember them all by heart. I’d much rather have them in my hands, so I could look at your handwriting and think about you writing them, but at least the words wouldn’t be lost._ **

**_Christ, if the guys saw these letters I’d never hear the end of it, since I’m a soppy fool when I write you. But the stupidest part about that is that they’re all soppy fools when they write their girlfriends. You should see some of their faces – it’s like they smooth out, and their eyes get all bright, and some of them smile like dopes. I’m probably one of the grinning dopes too. But it’s nice, because most of the time they’re stone faced, even when they’re sleeping. You see them looking like old men even though most are my age._ **

**_We’ve seen some action as we get to where we’re going. It’s bitter fighting. We only move inches some days, and some days we’re pushed back.  My parents used to talk about taking us to France someday, so we could see where we come from. And this is what I see – lots of dirt and mud, burned up trees. It was probably really nice, once. There’s been so much fighting it’s almost impossible to imagine it looking nice again._ **

**_Give Antoine my best if you see him again. And don’t be shy about giving it to him in English – he understands you perfectly well, he just likes to tease. That rotten asshole._ **

**_You know, I think you’re smart enough to study any damn thing you please. If you want to study French with your Hebrew, then dammit don’t let anyone tell you different. Your dad talking like it’s got to be one or the other; maybe it’d have to be for him, but you’re a lot smarter than your dad, and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so._ **

**_I thought about that time on the streetcar the day before I got your letter, actually. Thought about how great it was to feel your hand in mine. Thought about your hands quite a bit after, and your ~~lips~~ ,  ~~mouth~~  smile. It’s been only four months, but it feels like four years._ **

**_Yeah, I still got your locket. Of course I do. I told you that night I don’t believe in luck charms, and I’m sorry about that. So far, it’s been keeping me safe. And even if it isn’t really good luck it’s been keeping me sane. And happy even, thinking about it around your neck. What a gift you’ve given me._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

~

< **NAPPING EN ROUTE À Saint-Lô >**

 **_✗_ ** ******_→_ ** **_July 4, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I know I keep sending you more letters than you can really respond to, and I hope that’s alright. Any news is good news as long as it’s in my handwriting; that’s what you said before I left. And I took it to heart.  I’d tell you about every stupid little thing that happens here if most of it wouldn’t get stamped out by the censors._ **

**_It’s backwards being here on the 4th. There wasn’t any fighting today, oddly enough. Which meant that everyone was on pins and needles, and all the while trying to keep the day like it’s meant to be kept. There’s not much you can do about the 4th when you’re knee-deep in reeking hot muck, in some ditch way the hell out in France. But we did alright, I think. We sat around drinking the worst fucking coffee you’d ever tasted in your life, exchanging cigarettes and traditions. There sure is a spread._ **

**_Gunther talked about his grandma, and his little apartment in Brooklyn. Talked about how she’d make these sweet cakes like her grandma’s grandma used to make, back when it wasn’t so bad for Jewish people to live in Germany (however long ago that was). And just in case anyone got the wrong idea she’d frost it red white and blue, and stick a little paper flag on top. Because they’re proud to be Americans now – proud of their traditions, but happy to be free. And the way he talks about these cakes, I swear you could almost taste it. (Incidentally, I’m starving)._ **

**_Erd’s from upstate New York, he says, and his 4th is the kind you read about in magazines. His mom goes overboard and cooks way too much food, so they end up sharing with the neighbors, except every mom in his neighborhood does this, so it’s just this round robin of homemade stuff. And it gets to be a competition between them, he says – they’re all trying to outdo each other, and meanwhile everyone’s eating themselves stupid on the best food they’ve had since Easter. At least, it was like that before rations._ **

**_I tried not to grin, because it made me think of my mom. Today she’d probably cooked ten times her weight in food and proceeded to feed the entire city. Pregnant or no; nothing would stop her. I talked about that, just a little bit. I’m not one for sharing, but I talked about her crawfish etouffee, and how I could eat a whole fucking pot of that stuff._ **

**_There was a lot I didn’t say, though, and I’m thinking about it now. I’m thinking about grabbing your hand and pulling you up on the streetcar, and that weird little thrill that shot through my arm when your fingers interlocked with mine, for just a second. And now, how I regret that I didn’t hold on longer. I’m thinking about sitting on the grass next to you, watching fireworks, and you were so close I could have reached out and wrapped my arm around your waist. And there was jazz floating over the water like smoke. Antoine played the trumpet, I think. He’s got a sound that’s sweet as someone’s voice, and you don’t hear it anywhere else._ **

**_And the whole fucking time we watched those fireworks, I was thinking to myself_ ** **kiss her dammit kiss her _and I don’t know. I lost my nerve, I guess. Or never had much to begin with. You tied me up in knots then, and you still do – even more so now that I’ve had that kiss and can remember what it’s like. (And God, do I …) And thinking about it gets me through some bad shit, but I’ve got some regret too; that I didn’t muster my courage and kiss you then, last 4th of July. If I had, then there’d be a whole six months of them to remember, instead of one night._**

**_I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Like it wasn’t enough, because it was. It was – well, more than I had any right to expect. You’re more than I had any right to expect. God, this is soppy bullshit, but I guess I’m feeling homesick today. For the whole of it – my house, my family, the scent of French Quarter, for the music, God the music, and for people I’ve seen every day all my life. But you especially. If it came right down to it, you’re what I’m homesick for._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. It was always around this letter where the shape of his absence became too hard to bear. She remembered that day as clearly as if it had happened yesterday; remembered exactly how her fluttering heart had crept to her throat, how her entire body seemed to bristle with anticipation for something inevitable, something wonderful.

**_~_ **

**_✗_    _→_ _July 10, 1944_ **

**_Dear, Petra_ **

**_Your letter had me in stitches. You wearing that stupid watch like some kind of medieval favor and trying to pass it off as high European fashion might have been my favorite part. Or your talk of sending me a package full of things that’ll keep on the long ride over. Do you have any goddamn idea how adorable you are? It’s almost unfair. But I eat it up, you got it? You could write me the most dry, unemotional account of your daily life and it’d still be better than most anything I can think of._ **

**_It’s good you’re studying with my Dad. I know he’s probably pleased for the distraction, and the company. And damn right you’re keen! He heard it from me first, you know. Do me a favor and don’t let him sit by that damn radio too long. I know you’re all desperate for news, but I don’t want him sitting in his busted up chair and worrying himself grey over things he can’t do anything about._ **

**_I can’t really comment on the truth in the papers, except to vaguely confirm. We’re slowly making our way to our next objective, and from what I gather we are nearly there. I can’t comment on whether it’s a one of strategic importance except to assert that I don’t believe our great country would waste their time on targets of strategic unimportance._ **

**_So they’re calling you Auruo’s Girl now, huh? I guess you know I’m a bit of a coward when it comes to you, so I was waiting for you to say something making it official. Now I’m going to be even more disgustingly soppy in these letters. I hope you’re ready for it. Regardless, reading that made my week. And if not for that, it’d have been a hard week. The closer we get to our objective, the more desperate the fighting gets.  We took some trenches a few kilometers out, but the Nazis have been using the bocage around the city for cover, and it’s been hard as all hell advancing enough to get a foothold._ **

**_You want to know about friends? I told you about Erd and Gunther last time, but there’s one more, a kid I knew from the beach. His name is Eren Jaeger. He’s tiny – you wouldn’t think he’s eighteen, but he insists he is, and got kind of offended by the insinuation. Anyway, this brat made it off the beach by the skin of his nose. A bullet ricocheted off his helmet and sunk into the sand, and in the next minute a shell went off right next to him, but it just threw him in the air and knocked him out for a few minutes. And the bastard just gets up and keeps moving. It’s impossible. This kid just … he survives everything. He’s got more willpower than anyone I've ever met, so maybe that’s it. If he says something, it ends up happening for him, no matter how unrealistic. I’m not one for the supernatural and charms and shit, but there’s something funny about him. No one’s that lucky without a little help._ **

**_All I know about Paris these days is what I hear – that it was beautiful once but, like the rest of France, has a Nazi infestation. But I’ll think about that image when I sleep tonight. The two of us, in some shining place._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

~

He could be so romantic, when the mood struck; when he shelved his anxious boasting and let his true self free. She dreamed of that shining city every night for a week, spirited away by the power of his words. She could almost imagine the feel of him beside her, the warmth of his hands, his deep eyes drinking her in.

 

**_< Après la libération de ST. LO>_ **

**_✗_ ** ******_→_ ** ******_July 24th, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I swear I haven’t sat down properly for years. This is the first minute I’ve had to myself since my last letter, and I can’t even remember when the hell that was._ **

**_But after days or years or however long this endless battle lasted, I got a stack of your letters, tied all nice to a package. I read them all like I was starving for them, and in a way I was. I’d forgotten such a thing as beautiful as your letters could exist in this world._ **

**_You’ve been very patient with my vague updates, and now that the operation is a success I can speak about it without being vague, which is an incredible relief. Do you know how hard it is keeping myself from telling you every goddamn little thing that happens here? I listen to my superiors bark out orders and think to myself ‘Jesus fucking Christ if only Petra could hear some of this stuff.’ You’d set those old soldiers straight. I have no doubt._ **

**_Anyway, maybe you’ll have heard about it by the time you get this letter, but after weeks of pounding at the German line we’ve taken ST. Lo back from them. They’re calling us liberators, which sounds good in the newsreels, I guess. There isn’t much left. Hardly any people at all those first days we’d got it back, and most of the buildings have been almost completely blown to hell._ **

**_But I’m getting ahead of myself.  I’m not going to set down all the strategy and minutiae because I’m not sure I understand half of it myself; wasn’t really ever in the position to understand, if you catch my meaning. It’s a lot of going where you’re told and pointing your gun where they tell you to point. But you got to keep looking, keep watching, and your nerves are rattling and your heart’s going a mile a minute and you’re thinking about the taste of your morning cigarette and cup of coffee still on your breath, and that’s how they’ll find you should your ticket get punched. Still reeking like you’re alive._ **

**_God. I’m writing this fucking letter in a city of rubble, and in the busted up hedgerows outside there’s a stack of bodies they got to figure out what to do with now. And I knew some of them. One guy I shared a slit trench with one night – these holes you dig for a buddy and you, so that when it’s dark you got someone watching your back, and you’re watching his. Talked about his dad with arthritis, and his little sister who brushes her hair exactly fifty-two times each side.  And the next morning – the 16th, I think – he catches some shrapnel in the chest, and that’s it for him._ **

**_I told myself I wasn’t going to be a downer in this letter, because I’m a liberator now, and you don’t need to hear this shit anyway. They keep talking about how St. Lo was a big piece in our offensive – our first real foothold in France. And it was an important part of the German occupation that we busted to shit, so that’s important. That’s worth something. I have to tell myself that every hour, because when I think about the bodies and the ruins of people’s homes I start to forget._ **

**_So I mentioned hedgerows – while we were out catching our breath after landing the beach, the Germans were fortifying St. Lo to shit, making these hedgerows. Basically, making it so that it’s a goddamn bitch to advance, because you got to climb over them to see what the fuck is waiting for you, and you have no idea if it’s gonna be clear or if some German is a finger twitch from blowing you away. It took us over two weeks just to advance enough to reach the city, and then it was a real mess. Because you got Germans all holed up in these nicely fortified buildings and meanwhile we’re out in the open trying to find a safe place to volley back, you know?_ **

**_I might have done something stupid. I gotta admit it to you, so you know who you’re writing. So you know everything about me, and can make an informed decision. You care about a madman and a murderer. That’s it, that’s all folks._ **

**_It’s that last day and it’s looking grim, at least from where I’m crouching. Choking on rubble and dust. I haven’t slept or eaten in days. And I got into this weird place in my head that I don’t understand, even now. Everything got real quiet and dark and calm. And I felt like I had to do something – had to swallow everything and move. I got Gunther and Erd and Eren with me, as we’re in the same unit. And I just. Jesus Christ. They’re pounding us with everything they got, because those goddamn Germans don’t want to lose this city, and they were gonna fight to the last guy to make sure they didn’t. I’m exchanging some harassing fire with some goddamn guy and there’s this shriek and whistle and –_ **

**_Well, I lost it. It was too close, and I just – it all got very strange. I thought about you, and my family, and just got … I was so scared that I wasn’t scared anymore. We’re trying to scout further into the city to get an outpost set up, or even just a perch so we can provide some covering fire to the tanks trying to make it to the square. And we’re cut off, and there’s German fire coming at us from every direction and I just – I start moving – cover, then fire. I’m shooting, and it stops from one direction, and on and on. We carve out a path. And we get that outpost set up, and for the rest of the battle we covered the tanks coming in. Covered the scouts and supply runners. Covered any guy flying our colors, any that we could._ **

**_I didn’t even realize when it was over, because I couldn’t tell the difference between the yelling from battle and the cheering after. Erd’s the one who heard it. So I guess we’re big stupid heroes now. We 'forged a perilous path’, and our actions saved countless lives and secured our sector of ST. Lo, so that the liberation could proceed as planned. At least that’s what they’re saying. It didn’t feel nearly so important or impressive when I was actually doing it. Not nearly so great._ **

**_A few hours after the battle ended there were a few guys with cameras filming the city, taking reels of soldiers walking through the streets and waving and grinning and the like. They took some footage of us, even though we were gritty and grimy and I hadn’t shaved in at least a week. Erd mugged for the camera because he’s a rotten flirt. Gunther looked away because he’s shy. Eren mostly wanted to check out the camera I think; peering all close and curious. But I just stared straight into that dark eye, and wondered what I’d look like to people on the other side. Wondered if you’d even recognize me, if you happened to see this footage. I hope you would. God, I hope you would._ **

**_And it’s been a few days just regrouping, trying to figure out our next plan, and while I’m sitting here in the streets with the guys, I get this fat stack of letters and a package from you. And I cracked open the package and shared the pralines with the guys, and read your letters like I was starving for them. And God, Petra – after reading all this, reading about the horrible fucking things I’ve done, maybe now you know what those letters were for me._ **

**_I’ve gotten so used to the sound of shells and gunfire and guys yelling that it’s weird when it stops and I have to talk again. I didn’t even feel like me anymore – I’m not even a person, I’m just some … I’m one of your golems, from the stories your dad would tell sometimes. I’m a golem with a gun. So after all that, just sitting in the street reading your letters, eating those pralines; I felt like I could taste again. You talking about Antoine and the bakery and my family and Geoff and Sarah and everyone. You talking about last 4th of July, and wanting to kiss me just as bad as I wanted to kiss you … it was like I’d woken up, and I was me again.  God, do you know how much that meant to me?_ **

**_And I thought for a long time after about you dancing, spinning under dim lights, caught up in the music like it had its arms around you.  I thought about you saving those last dances for me, and all those dances and kisses that I’ll give to you the minute I get back, and every minute after. I promised, and I meant it. If I think about only one thing for the rest of my life, I’ll think about that._ **

**_I miss you. God, do I._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_P.S. Excuse the water marks. I got caught in the rain._ **

~

Tears poured down her cheeks. She knew what had probably happened; he had told her as much, that in the thick of things, he wasn’t thinking about staying alive anymore, just doing what had to be done. And he was so brave, and she loved him so much, but that was no comfort to her now. The love lingered like a phantom limb, that hollow, endless ache, with no hope for relief.

Outside, the radio blared on, blissfully unaware.

 

****

**< Les libérateurs de ST. LO>**

**_✗_ ** ******_→_ ** ******_July 25, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_We got our marching orders. Tomorrow we’re off to the next objective, which is probably for the best. A lot of sitting around starts to feel weird when you’re doing it in the middle of a ghost town._ **

**_You ever say something and the minute you have you just want to grab the words and shove the damn stupid things back down your throat? I’m thinking about that letter I wrote you yesterday and I have that feeling so bad I can’t look anyone in the eye. I’m not sure what the hell came over me. I hope you’ll do me the great favor of forgetting I wrote it, because I’d like to do the same._ **

**_It’s not becoming of a soldier to complain about his lot. We’re all in the same boat here, and yet I’m carrying on in my letters like some goddamned child. We sleep in the same trenches, eat the same food and got the same goal – survive and get home. We all got the same worries circling our heads._ **

**_So it’s lousy of me to complain like I somehow got it worse than them. And it’s lousy to put it on your head, when you’re probably worried out of it already. I hope you can forgive me, though I’ll understand if you can’t._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_~_ **

**_✗_    _→_ _July 26, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I don’t have much time to write because we’re about to roll up and get a move on, but I just had to say this. (So excuse the hasty penmanship)._ **

**_Hours after I put yesterday’s letter in the mail, I get yours from the 20th. And I couldn’t believe was I was seeing. I think I might have laughed because Erd asked me what was so funny – I don’t usually gape at your letters like a dunce. But it knocked me for a loop, Petra. Likely you haven’t gotten either of the letters I’ve sent in the last few days but it was like you were responding to them anyway._ **

**_I don’t believe in the supernatural whatsoever, you know that. I think there’s explanations for everything, and if people work hard enough they’re able to understand what’s going on around them without accounting for ghosts or god or luck or whatever. It’s probably half the reason your dad hates me as much as he does (the other half being my smart mouth, maybe. Or the fact that I ~~love~~  adore you and I’m not good enough for you by any stretch of the imagination)._ **

**_But being over here, with all the nutty stuff that happens on a daily basis, and I’m starting to reconsider. Just a little. I still don’t really believe, but I’ll find myself praying. And now I find myself thanking._ **

**_The fact that you went to a movie and saw me staring into that dumb camera like a fool is surreal to me. I’d been thinking about you when the cameraman filmed us– you’ll see when you get that goddamn letter I’m still upset I sent you. I’d been thinking about you especially._ **

**_I’m not sure about the hero part, still. But the fact that you were proud is more than I even know how to describe. God you twist me up, Petra. In the best way._ **

**_I’m sorry you cried. You know how I’d handle it if I was there, right? I’d wrap you up in my arms while you cried your heart out, then I’d maybe say something dumb so you’d forget you were sad. Until I can hold you like that, these letters and the memory of it will have to be enough. And it’s not, I know. But it’ll get you through until I can do it again. And I will._ **

**_Next time I see the camera watching me, I’ll wave. So you’ll know it’s for you._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_~_ **

**_✗_   _→_ _August 2, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I’m sorry for the long silence. Again, now that our latest operation is a success I can talk about it (and this time in far less detail, because the details are not important). As of August 7th we liberated a place called Vire, which is a bit further south and inland from ST. Lo. Not too far, as I understand it, but it felt a lot farther since it took us a long damn time getting there._ **

**_And just like last time, the minute I sit down for the first time since my last letter, the messenger passes a package and stack of letters into my hands. And that’s how I’ve spent this intolerably hot morning, while we wait for the higher ups to figure out what the hell they want us to liberate next._ **

**_So I’d been expecting that goddamn ST. Lo letter to make you worry, and since the moment I put the stupid thing in the mail to the moment I read your real response it’s been eating a hole in my gut. Again, I’m sorry for making you worry more than you might have normally. It won’t happen again._ **

**_But for your words … thank you. I will remember them when I fight, and when I get low. I’ll keep them close._ **

**_This time all I’ll say is I was stupid again and did another stupid thing and the brass made a rotten deal about it. I keep hoping that the chances to be stupid will stop happening, but every day I get put in that place I told you about – where I get so scared I’m not scared anymore – and then I have to do something or I’ll die from the need of it. Maybe it’s the old itch, or some horrible new shape. Where I’d get so bored that I felt like I’d jump out of my skin. But it’s not because of boredom here. So much is happening that you have to act or you’ll be swept away. I’ve seen it happen._ **

**_In any case, I received your package in good health. I keep your ‘favor’ (ha!) with the rest of your letters. I’d tie it around my wrist but it’d be ruined in the first half hour. Being a soldier is a dirty business. And I have no intention of ruining such a treasure. It smells exactly like you do, like the lotion you use and the way your skin always smells and it made me miss you so horribly that I couldn’t breathe. It was as if you were standing right next to me._ **

**_My darling, I’m a horrible, selfish man and after reading your letter I wanted you here next to me. And the minute I’d thought it, I was sick at myself. This is no place for anyone. I can’t have you here with me, and if I thought about it like a rational man I wouldn’t, so I will settle for being where you are. Soon, I hope._ **

**_And it’s dangerous to think like this. It’s the worst kind of nonsense. But I sit here on this upturned crate on some blasted out street in Vire, with Gunther at my back while he writes his grandmother, and get drunk on the hope of it all. We lose people, but we’re winning battles. We’re liberating places. We have the Nazis on the run. I get so drunk on it, until I’m shaking from pure, stupid hope, and I feel like I have to outrun it._ **

**_But the more I think about it, the more I realize this wild hope has almost nothing to do with the war, and everything to do with your feelings for me. I should wait to say this until I’m right next to you and I can watch your face as you decide what to make of it, but if I don’t at least write the words I’ll burst from the need of saying this to you.  Petra Ral, I love you._ **

**_I LOVE YOU._ **

**_I’ve loved you for years. I’ll love you years more. I’m a stupid, foolish man who hardly knows how to put a thought together, and likely when it comes time to say it to your face I’ll choke because I’m a coward besides. And I hope you’ll forgive me then._ **

**_Maybe by the holidays, I’ll be home. I’ll be standing on your stoop with my hat in my hands like some fool. Like your fool. And I’ll knock on your door and you’ll answer it and I’ll sweep you up in my arms and kiss you senseless. And I’ll say the words to you then._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

“I love you,” she whispered, scrubbing angrily at her red eyes. He should have known better than to make such wild promises. Now they were all that was left, lingering in her aching heart, unfulfilled. She had to say it to him, and feared she would never get the chance now.

Out of them all, this sheaf of paper was the most careworn. It had gone through hell to get to her, therefore it was treasure beyond comprehension, made more so by the message it carried. Through her tears, she smiled at his blocky handwriting, the way he'd scrawled his love in all capital letters, like it was too big for the page.  _You idiot_ , she thought desperately, clutching the letter to her chest. 

 

****

**< EN ROUTE À BREST>**

**_✗_ ** ******_→_ ** **_August 16, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I love this thought of you; newsreel hunter. Scouring the globe for the scoop. It – well, I’ll tell you; it reminds me of when we were kids._ **

**_God, I got the clearest mental picture just now, and I’m grinning so big even Gunther’s asking about it (and he’s very circumspect, usually. Never snoops, not even when he’s curious. Erd, on the other hand – a more miserable snoopy bastard never lived)._ **

**_I gotta tell you this. The other night, after a long day of marching to our next objective, we’re digging our slit trenches and looking for a place to sleep, and I’m being a miserable bastard because I’m feeling like a miserable bastard – I haven’t slept right or eaten right and I’m getting antsy because we haven’t seen any action in days, and I’m just waiting for the shit to hit the fan. And Eren sees this because he’s can be pretty sharp, and he asks me about you. He wanted to know what you were like._ **

**_It was different than before, with the guys from the beach who just wanted to ogle a picture of a pretty girl. He was actually curious, and Erd and Gunther too. So I told them, in probably the most roundabout way possible. I told them one of my favorite stories about you._ **

**_I wonder if you even remember this? You were the skinniest, scrappiest girl I’d ever seen in my life and I was just – I’d have probably followed you into hell if you asked nicely. Maybe even if you asked meanly. I was already bewitched, more due to the force of your personality. You had a certain way of wanting things, and you were curious and hilarious and you cared so much about everything that I wondered how you didn’t just burst from it all._ **

**_And I teased you because I liked watching you get all riled up about everything. And you gave it right back to me, and half the time I’d be so mad at you I couldn’t even speak, and I still wanted to be around. If I was smarter, I’d have known right then that I was doomed._ **

**_Anyway, you got it in your head one day that you were going to befriend this awful tomcat that prowled our street. God above, I hated that fucking thing and that fucking thing hated me. But you were bound and determined. You left it milk and treats and you just sat there patiently, waiting for it to change its mind about you. Meanwhile I’m twelve and going out of my goddamn mind with boredom, and whining to you about doing something else like climb a new tree or run down by the river, but you didn’t move a muscle. You were going to reach an understanding with that cat or die in the attempt._ **

**_And that’s the part that I remember especially well; that horrible, mean cat just coolly walking up to you and staring at you and hissing a little, and even then you didn’t move. You just stared right back. And I was getting ready to beat that stupid thing off you if it took a bite, because it was less a cat and more a monster by then – missing half an ear, probably twenty-five pounds of the meanest, orneriest animal to live if I’m any judge. And after the most tense moment of my young life, that horrible cat just rubbed its grizzled face against your leg and let loose a purr like an old car engine._ **

**_That’s what I told them – Eren and Erd and Gunther, when they wanted to know about you. Because when it comes to talking about this kind of stuff, I’m not good at saying she’s smart and kind and tough as all hell, and so gorgeous it’ll make your chest hurt just to look at her. I just wrap it up in a story, so they can see it for themselves._ **

**_When this is all over, I’d like you to meet them. And I know they’d like to meet you._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_~_ **

She wanted to meet them too. Perhaps they had disappeared like Auruo, or perhaps one of these days she'd find one of them on her stoop, wringing his hat in his hands, with a gruesome story of heroism and inevitable defeat. It was the last thing she wanted, the contents of her deepest fears, but she would make an attempt to be welcoming, to listen to their stories and find some piece of the man she loved within them.  They would tell her they were sorry, so sorry, that he was a good man and a good soldier and list off Auruo's inevitable heroics. And she would have to smile and nod and pretend her heart wasn't shattering slowly, each of their words chipping it apart piece by piece. 

 

**_✗_    _→_ _August 23, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I’ll have you know that your last letter turned me into such a fool. I had to reread it six times in a row just to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, which is indeed something that happens around here. It’s a real concern, you gorgeous nag!_ **

**_So you’ve told me! You’ve confessed. No matter what, you can’t take it back; I have signed and notarized proof that you love me and you’re stuck with me. For as long as you’ll have me._ **

**_And I’ll tell you, in every letter. And I’ll think it every day. Anytime I get a chance._ **

**_Today they told us we’re nearly to our objective, and the tension’s as thick as molasses. I’ve started to get this sense when something is going to happen, and we’re about to walk into hell. I’ve had that feeling all day, and it’ll hound me until we walk out the other side. Keep me in your thoughts – I’ll need them._ **

**_Anyway, while busting camp this morning I was thinking about this time last year, when you were coming over every day and playing with my brothers and giving me a hard time about every little thing, and God above if I could be exactly there in this moment. If only, if only._ **

**_Does this mean when I get home I get to call you Auruo’s Girl too? Might as well start calling me Petra’s Fool, because that’s what I am. And I mean it in only the best of ways._ **

**_I hope you have something nice in mind for your birthday in a week. I know my mom’ll take care of you like you deserve – she’s probably already got something in the works, and is trying to be all mysterious about it, as if it’s some big surprise that she throws a bash whenever someone gets a year older. I’d put hard money down that she’s going to make you a big damn pot of ratatouille because she knows its your favorite. Tell me if I’m wrong, and I’ll eat my cigarettes!_ **

**_I can’t sing to you like I’ve done every year before, but I will be singing. First time in English, and second time in French, just like always. If you listen close you might be able to hear me._ **

**_I love you, darling._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

~

This month without letters had been the hardest. She thought she’d understood terror then, the slow boil of dread taking over her thoughts and dreams; she no longer saw a shining city of light but bombs and darkness, blood on dusty stones. It was nothing compared to now; terror mingled with grief, and the agony of never knowing for sure.

 

****

**< _Après la libération de BREST >_**

**_✗_ ** **** **_→_ ** **_September 22, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_I’m alright. My darling, I’m alright. I’m alive._ **

**_I’m so sorry for making you worry as you have. A few months ago I marveled at the speed of v-mail, but now I can’t help but to curse it for being terribly, unforgivably slow. No matter how fast they take this letter and ship it overseas, you won’t know that I’m alright for days, and I can’t stand the thought of you worrying more than you have already. I’m boiling mad about it!_ **

**_There’s so much I’m mad about, and I feel like I can’t hold it in. There are bodies of men I knew piled neatly in the streets, and the war offices are typing up the letters to send home to their families. I don’t know when the last time I had dry feet was. I’m jumping at shadows and sounds. I feel like I’ve been here for a thousand years. I haven’t seen your face or held you in my arms or kissed you for that long, and it drives me mad._ **

**_Everything about this makes me so mad and sick._ **

**_So I’m sorry about the penmanship. I haven’t slept in a few days and I’m awake only by the grace of the worst fucking coffee ever brewed by man. Maybe adrenaline too. Only a few days have passed since the fighting ended but this fight was bitter. God, it was._ **

**_I don’t know if I should talk about the fighting as I have in the past, because I think the details would only upset you. I know they would upset my mother, who you’ve said wants me to stop taking unnecessary, foolish risks in service to our country. And every time I wake up that’s what I say to myself – be smart, keep your head down. Don’t do anything to get yourself killed._ **

**_But every guy is thinking that, even the ones that die, and thinking it doesn’t make any difference._ **

**_I’ll tell you how it ended. We’re pinned somewhere in an old house, a few feet away from the center square. And the shells are screeching past and Eren's out of ammunition and my eyes feel like they’ve been pinned open. I’m shaking like a leaf in a storm but my hands are steady. And I’ll think about that more later, how that’s even possible, if that makes me a better soldier or a terrible man or both.  I know how you feel about the matter darling, but it’s different. It’s different staring it down._ **

**_We’re all so tired we’re starting to make mistakes. Erd stays too long out of cover and a bullet smashes the rubble a hair above his head. Gunther’s praying under his breath. And there’s a blast and we’re hit by a spray of rubble and stones, and it knocks the gun out of my hands. Hits me hard all over. We were lucky we only got scrapes and bruises, because usually when you’re caught in a blast, you either get blown to bits or you get trapped under the rubble. We were lucky._ **

**_I guess to make a long story short I’ll just say we were stupid again. I was stupid again. I can’t stop being stupid, darling. I’m getting a reputation for it._ **

**_Anyway the fighting stops, and that old Nazi General gives the order to ruin the port and any strategic asset this fucking sinkhole might have had before he surrenders. I got a look at the bastard while he was making a show of it. He was beaten, he was ROUTED, but he still looked down on us like we were scum and he was in the right. I’ve never been madder in my whole life. I wanted to slug him right in the nose. I might have done, if Gunther hadn’t grabbed my arm._ **

**_I looked at that man, General Ramcke his name is, and couldn’t wrap my head around him. I guess if I’d surrendered I wouldn’t hang my head to the people who’d beaten me, but what I can’t forgive is how he looked at us, with such a callous, disdainful measure. I don’t think he thinks we’re the same; I think he thinks we’re some lower order, and it’s a terrible indignity to be beaten by us. I don’t understand it._ **

**_After that we started rounding up the German survivors and packing them away as prisoners, and most of them didn’t act like that old bastard general. The officers did though. One of them sneered at Gunther especially, and I wanted to knock his fucking head off. I might have. God, I wanted to._ **

**_When the fighting was well over and we had a minute to ourselves, the postman handed me a stack of your letters, each more worried than the last, and God they broke my heart. I said it before but I’ll say it again; I’m sorry. I’m sorry I missed your birthday and I’m sorry I made you worry and I’m sorry I’m here and you’re there, and there isn’t anything I can do about it except be a stupid fool in battle, so that maybe God will see fit to send me home in one piece, so that I can be with you again.  So that you can take me to that new jazz hall you mentioned, maybe. I’d love to see it, and I’d love even more to break in a new pair of shoes with you. Feel you in my arms again._ **

**_I have to confess a bit of pleasure at the fact that you are jealous over me. There’s no competition of course – you’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted and everyone knows it, except you apparently. It’s laughably wrong listening to you talk as if you’re somehow blessed by my attention when it’s really the other way around.  I regret to inform you that you are regretfully misinformed on the subject of my handsomeness or lack thereof. It’s very cruel to tease a soldier away from home in such a way._ **

**_But I’ll forgive you because I’m crazy about you._ **

**_Just now they called me away for some morale boosting they have us soldiers do sometimes, for the reels. I got to raise the flag in the middle of Brest, and this time I waved like hell. I thought of you and waved like my lousy life depended on it, and for the first time in a month I felt like smiling. I might have. You’ll have to tell me, if you see the reel. I hope you do._ **

**_There’s an odd torpor that comes over you after fighting for so long. The world funnels down to a singular point, and if you’re not careful you forget that there’s anything outside of it. You think that the world is solely made of shells and bombs and gunfire and dead men. It’s strange when you have to talk again._ **

**_And in those times, I think about you. I hold your locket in my fist and think about you. I remember your letters, and remember your smile, your laugh, your hand in mine. I remember dancing with you – practicing with you until that’s all I saw, until I even dreamed about about the steps. I remember the two of us moving together, slipped tight in the pocket of the music. And the memory of you pressed close, and my hand at your back. How warm you were, and soft. How badly I needed you, and how badly I need you still. I hold it close, how much I love you. It keeps me alive._ **

**_I’ll write you a longer letter soon. I love you, my darling._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

 

Here, she couldn't take it anymore, and she told him.  She finally saw him in one of the newsreels and couldn't stop crying; he looked like he had aged ten years, like he had lived a harrowing decade that she could never know nor understand. The need to hold him was so aching and desperate that she felt like crying all the time, constantly swallowing that block of thickness in the back of her throat. She wandered the school halls like a ghost, barely paid attention in class. What was the point of it now? Every night her Auruo suffered and there was nothing she could do about it. That night, as she did every night, she wound his watch in her fist and tucked it under her pillow.  

~

 

**_< Dans la nuit de notre départ>_ **

**_✗_** ** _→_** **_September 27, 1944_**

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_So word comes town from the top that we’re getting a bit of a break. And you’d think that would mean we’d get a few days to ourselves, right? Time to rest, to write home, to work out the kinked muscles and cramps, burns and scrapes, and every other damn thing. NOT SO. Really the one break we’re getting is a break from the fighting – which is great, let me tell you – but there’s no rest for the wicked. Or the exhausted._ **

**_We’re still in Brest for the time being. Trying to get things situated a little better for the civilians before we pick up and head west. It’s bleak for these people. Now that the fighting’s over all that’s left is a massive pile of rubble for them to pick through, sort out the pieces._ **

**_Spirits are high, though. God, if it was me picking through the busted pieces of my home, I don’t know if I could manage a smile. I wouldn’t be completely down because we’d be alive, but it’s still a somber event, going through your ruins. But yesterday I was helping this lady sort through what had obviously been her house, and she couldn’t stop singing. Just so happy the Germans were gone. I joined in because I knew the songs she was singing, and we had a grand old time._ ** _De l'autre cote de la rue **, if you’re curious. She had a nice voice.**_

**_Likely you won’t get these for a long while either, since the messenger won’t be back for a week, they said. Which is frustrating, of course. I’d just as soon you get my letters the second the ink dries and I stuff the thing in its envelope. But I like thinking about you getting a huge stack of letters. Not that anything I say is all that important or interesting, but you say you’re so happy to get one that I think getting a bunch would cheer you right up. I know getting a bunch from you would do the same for me._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_~_ **

**_✗_   _→_ _October 1, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_Seems like all anyone can talk about these days is Paris being liberated for almost a month. It’s strange to think about, because when Paris was freed we were fighting for our lives here in Brest, but it’s got the mood around here soaring._ **

**_Seems almost like the beginning of the end, don’t you think?_ **

**_You’ve probably known about it for weeks, but it was news to me as soon as the fighting in Brest was over, and I could hardly believe it. Erd actually cried. He’s got extended family from around there, I think; Finnish expats who tried to get home when the Nazis first rolled through and didn’t get out in time. They’re alright, he says. Happy to be free again._ **

**_So the talk is that we’re heading east in a week or so. It’s odd business, because I’ve seen so many terrible things here, but in a very strange, inexplicable way, I think I’ll miss the coast. I’ll miss some of the civilians, anyway. They’re good people._ **

**_Been helping singing lady from a few days ago, because apparently she asks for me specifically. Learned her name is Manon, – which is incredible because it means ‘bitter’ and she’s the furthest from. She had some sons my age and a husband before the war started, but it’s just her now. You’d think she’d be bitter about it all, and you wouldn’t blame her if she was, but she’s got more spark than most of the people I’ve met in my life. She reminds me of you, actually._ **

**_Anyway, she chats away while we work, or while I go about my business and she tags along. Says my French is lazy and laughs about it – says I need to listen to how real French speak the language. I very politely told her to fuck off, and she laughed so hard._ **

**_Of course one of the first things she asked is if I had a sweetheart, because I suppose I’m a bit obvious about it, and now you’re her favorite thing to talk about. What your favorite things are, what you like to do, how we met, how much I love you. I tell her when I get back we’re going to see Glen Miller’s band and dance like fools, and she laughed at that. Young music, she says and shakes her head, but she’s full of shit – she loves Glen Miller too._ **

**_Maybe when all this shit is over and the fighting is done, when we come to see Paris, we can come to see Manon too. She won’t rest until she’s looked you over, she says; has to make sure you’re worthy of me. I told her seriously it’s more the other way around – she should be making sure that I’m worthy of you._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

**_~_ **

 

**_✗_   _→_ _October 8, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_Oh, my darling. I got your letter and had to go read it somewhere private because it twisted me up into knots. I’m so sorry. How many times can I tell you? I’m sorry that you worried and sorry that you cried. And I’m glad that you saw me in the reel. I’m sure I looked a terrible mess and you’re being kind, as you usually are, but I’m glad it gave you some happiness._ **

**_I don’t have much time to write but I just wanted you to know that I love you. And you could never bore me with what you write, you understand me? If you sent me a ten page minute by minute account of your day  I would be happy to read it, and I’d fold it up and keep it with the rest of your letters. I still have them all, by the way._ **

**_Manon warmed to you as soon as she saw how much your letter cheered me up. 'It’s the first time I’ve seen a real smile on your face,’ she tells me. 'Not a smirk or a leer’. I don’t leer, dammit – do I? I do smirk though; I’ll admit to smirking. But there you have it. I smile real at your letters._ **

**_When we were kids and bored, we’d go off and explore – we’d snoop around until we found something worthwhile and interesting. And now that I’m over here, you’ll have to do it for the both of us. As soon as I get back though, I look forward to getting into all kinds of nonsense and trouble with you. God, do I._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

 

She wanted that nonsense more than she could ever say.

**_~_ **

**_✗_   _→_ _October 9, 1944_ **

**_Dear Petra,_ **

**_Since it’s the last night before we head out tomorrow, the civilians had a bit of a party for us. Music and dancing until we were sore from it._ **

**_You should have seen how many girls were after a spin with Erd – probably because he looks like an honest to God movie star. He was very jovial and told them lots of terrible jokes that he forced me to translate, and then what do you know – suddenly they weren’t so interested in dancing with him anymore. Ha! He was put out. I told him me and Gunther and Eren will always laugh at his shitty jokes, and he cheered up after that._ **

**_Gunther makes me laugh – not at him, you understand! He’s not an ugly guy but he’s so quiet and he’s got such an intense look to him that a lot of the girls gave him a wide berth. All but one; this tiny black haired girl who was bound and determined for a dance. And he’s too polite to turn down an honest request, but his face was so red. You should have seen it._ **

**_Danced with Manon quite a bit. She’s no spring chicken but she is fairly spry for a lady of her age. She smacked me on the ear when I said as much to her. God, you’d like her. I think you two would get on. Anyway, she told me to be careful and not to do anything stupid and heroic so that I can get home to you, and then come back and visit. She’s very optimistic; thinks that by the time this all happens, she’ll have a house again. I wouldn’t doubt it – when she puts her mind to something, it has a way of happening. You’re alike in that regard._ **

**_Of course all the music and dancing made me miss you something terrible. I feel like it’s been ten years since I’ve seen your face, and held you in my arms. I sat and watched for the last dance, because I always save the last one for you. And while everyone swayed to the music, I thought about doing so with you, then walking you home and stealing a kiss before you go inside, before your dad could see._ **

**_I love you. I get frustrated because it’s not enough to put it down like this, and not even enough to say the words. It’s such a big feeling that it demands action; I have to DO something about it. I get restless, anxious; hands jumping on my knees. Reaching across for you._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Auruo_ **

~

When the letters stopped, Petra held onto hope despite all evidence to the contrary, clung to it desperately, as if it were the only thing in the entire world keeping her from drowning. He was busy, she consoled herself, he was a soldier for Pete’s sake, and the enemy was merciless in its advance. Even now, in retreat, they proved a formidable foe. And she knew Auruo, knew her Auruo better than she knew herself; he would fight for freedom until he had nothing left to give.

 

The news had ended, and music filled the room.

 _I'm making believe that you're in my arms though I know you're so far away_  
_Making believe I'm talking to you, wish you could hear what I say_

She had prayed that he’d return in time for the holiday, just like it happened in the movies; no matter how hopeless the story grew, things would always right themselves by the end. One could count on the moral rectitude of the universe. Nothing like reality; the holidays had come and gone, and there hadn’t been a single word of news.

_And here in the gloom of my lonely room we're dancing like we used to do  
Making believe is just another way of dreaming, so till my dreams come true_

_I'll whisper "Good night", turn out the light, and kiss my pillow_  
_Making believe it's you_

Was the entire world out to torment her? She used to love this song, especially when Auruo sang it, his voice low and crooning, just like the pros. The woman singing it now got it all wrong, emphasized the wrong places, the wrong notes. Sharp temper mingled with sadness; Petra strode across the room switched off the radio with a huff.  There was too much in the world that reminded her of Auruo, and if she was going to insulate herself from them, she might as well get a good start.

She plopped down onto the cavernous couch, fingering the clasps of the watch. It had been Auruo’s grandfather’s, and he’d given it to her for protection, which she had done. She’d cleaned and polished it, carefully revealing a finely-wrought inscription at the base: ‘ _steady on’._ She wondered what Auruo would have said if he could see it.

There was a knock at the door: three circumspect raps. Nothing like anyone she knew. “Dad,” she called. “Someone at the door for you.”

No answer; maybe he’d already gone to bed. Sighing, Petra rolled to her feet and padded across the living room, chafing some warmth into her arms. The shadow through the glass seemed to shift in place, the outline of their curls stark against the porchlight. Petra’s stomach dropped. It couldn’t be –

She tore open the door with so much force that it banged the wall. A sob caught in the back of her throat. Here on her stoop, looking like he had crawled every mile to get here, was Auruo, a half-smile on his face. He held his hat in a nervous hand, as if there was a possibility she would reject him, order him away and slam the door in his face. Before he could say anything, she threw herself in his arms.

She’d overestimated his balance; the two of them toppled to the ground, landing in a pile of soggy leaves. But Petra didn’t care; she clung to him with earnest tenacity, quickly memorizing everything she had forgotten; the physical reality of him, the weight of him on top of her, the feel of his hands, his skin. “Auruo,” she sobbed, clinging to him. "What happened?" 

She felt him take a slow breath. "There was a bad ... well, you could probably guess. I got wounded, and we were taken prisoner. Now there's a dump, lemme tell you. But Allied forces liberated us eventually. And ... here I am." His smile turned tight with pain. "You’re gonna have to help me up.”

It was then that she saw, and cursed herself for not noticing immediately; his left leg was missing at the knee. She had been so happy to see his face she’d failed to take stock of the rest of him.  Jumping to her feet, she pulled his arm around her shoulder, and threw an arm around his waist, and together they limped around until they found his cane.

She took him carefully by the lapels of his coat, leading him to the back of the wall, beneath the lamplight. She brought her cold hands to his warm face and kissed him, slowly at first, trembling with the effort of keeping herself in check. He brought an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “God, Petra,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I thought I’d never get to do this again.”

She half-laughed, caught on the edge of a sob. “Now you can all you want.”

He softened at that. Biting his lip, he brought a hand to her cheek, brushing her tears away with his thumb. As she reached for him, the watch rattled merrily on her wrist.


End file.
